


More Sand

by Nebulad



Series: Stargazers [1]
Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hedwyn Spoilers, M/M, Other, Pre-Relationship, nb character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: Hedwyn wants to get to know the Reader. They wish they had something to tell him, but memories of the Commonwealth are as distant as freedom from the Downside seems.





	More Sand

The Reader cut an interesting if meek figure, all but drowning in the mishmash of clothes that’d been thrown together for them. Ultimately they were closest to Hedwyn’s size, which wasn’t saying much— he was taller, but all said Jodi was taller _and_ broader, while Rukey was too narrow although perhaps closer in proportions. The effect was… curious, Hedwyn admitted privately, but they were very much saved the burden of having to pull it all off by the flagrant otherworldliness about them.

They could read, and he could tell.

He had a thousand questions about it, but they were idle so he kept them to himself. No use making the newest addition to the team feel like more of a curiosity than they already were, and they seemed a little scared of everyone besides. That… wasn’t uncommon in the Downside; it only takes one near death to fray a person, and more than like they’d had more than one being a Reader caught in the Commonwealth.

He’d never asked their name, but neither had they offered one; they barely offered anything, only nodding curtly when handed the book they were to read. They found it difficult, but less so than any of the rest trying to decipher what all the little symbols meant; Hedwyn tried, on occasion, to trace them out, but mimicking lines imparted no meaning. While it seemed large chunks of the book were off limits to the poor Reader, they found the important pieces. During the Rite, Hedwyn had felt them in his head and lost track of which of them was controlling his limbs.

It didn’t quite matter, of course, because they won; so long as that kept happening, it didn’t matter who was driving.

Still, the isolation of the Reader troubled him. Jodi had sagely suggested that they would open up in time, given opportunity to posit themself and become accustomed to the journey, while Rukey found their silence unsettling when paired with their tendency to make noise with the bits and bobbles rolling around in their poor wagon. _Not a peep besides the fidgeting,_ he’d groused quietly, more inclined to be unnerved when they put the mask on. _Like a walking, talking statue._

Hedwyn resolved to speak with them, one-on-one. There was precious little time to do so; normally that sort of bonding would be saved for foraging excursions, but— and call them all paranoid— they rarely added the Reader to the duty roster. They’d only just recovered from the brink of death, and besides that there was their artificial right leg. It was an impressive mechanism, made of wood and other more flexible materials and littered with idly carved runes— it was also shockingly sturdy, considering the condition the Reader had been in when they found them. Surely it would hold up against such strenuous activities as flower picking and plucking mushrooms; but neither could the Nightwings risk losing their Reader.

He believed they were annoyed by their confinement, but deferred to him on the matter. He’d heard no complaints but in fairness, neither had he caught their name or how they’d ended up banished— well, to be fair, he could’ve guessed. The point was that it was polite to wait for the information to be volunteered, and as that didn’t seem imminently likely, he took the course to ask. When he looked for them, they were sitting on a nearby stump and seemed to be deep in thought. They rarely kept within in the wagon, which was what made Hedwyn think that they misliked the current situation.

“Good evening, my friend,” he called, only very slowly drawing them from their thoughts. His sleeves slipped sloppily down their arm in a way that was hopefully more charming than inconvenient; he wasn’t particularly concerned about appearances so much as results, but the patchwork outfit seemed to work just fine in those regards. “You and I haven’t spoken at length. I’m sure you have questions.” An understatement, but he hesitated to begin talking as he usually would; he was curious as to how they would sound, once they got going.

“Hedwyn,” they offered in a voice that made him think of the bog-dwellers. He didn’t know what it was— a human voice, but with an underlying hiss. It was less threatening coming from someone barely a fourth of Jodi’s size trying to keep her cloak out of the dirt, but he suspected it wasn’t their intention to be frightening. “I’m grateful for the rescue; I don’t remember if I’ve said that or not.”

“It was mutually convenient,” he returned, uncomfortably reminded of how they might’ve left them for dead had they not been able to read. He couldn’t take credit for an action taken for his own benefit.

“Regardless.” That seemed to soak up all their words— precious few for someone with so many more at their fingertips. He settled down near them, indicating that he wasn’t going to let the conversation peter out; they didn’t object, which was good enough for him. “You suggested I have questions.”

“Do you?”

“Will you answer them?” Their tone said they didn’t believe he would, which he supposed he deserved. One Rite under their belts and a few days between then and now, and they were still fumbling in the dark.

“Of course; if you’ll answer mine.”

They smiled wryly. “Everything has a price, I suppose,” they sighed, which made him frown.

“Don’t think of it that way,” he admonished lightly. “We’re getting to know each other; it’s what friends do.” And he wanted to _be_ their friend, if they were all in this together. The task ahead of them was immense, but he didn’t intend to forget those who took it with him as soon as he was free. He had a life to return to, but a life was forged every second that it lived— when he returned to the Commonwealth, he would be a changed man. It was folly to deny as much, and up to him to ensure that the change was for the better.

He only hoped, of course, that they intended to start with simpler questions than he did. Everything seemed so… intrusive to ask, when you knew nothing about a person. “All right. Did you and Jodariel know each other in the Commonwealth?” He opened his mouth in surprise, about to ask what had led them to the conclusion, when they reached up on their shoulder and tapped it.

He reached to his own and— “Oh. The pin.” He laughed at himself for thinking somehow the Reader could divine such things through their power— or that the book said something of him, or any other foolish thought that’d flitted through his head. “Yes, we knew each other.”

“I assume you got along?”

“Who wouldn’t get along with Jodi?” It was half jest but he believed it— Jodariel was exceedingly likable despite the way she held the denizens of the Downside at arm’s length. The Reader smiled. “Do you have a name?” he asked, assuming that their curiosity about him and Jodi was exhausted.

They were quiet for a few moments, and he accepted that whatever answer he was given may not have been honest. That was all right; many changed their names when they went to the Downside, to protect whatever reputation remained to them in the Commonwealth. Some did so to try and evoke fear and earn a place in the hierarchy. He’d kept his own, seeing no reason to change it. “I don’t know,” they said finally.

“Oh?” Not what he’d been expecting.

“You’ll recall I was gravely injured recently. I think a few details have slipped through the cracks.” They swung their arm down to gather a handful of sand, lifting it above their head to let it trickle to the ground through the spaces between their fingers. “Reader is fine. I remember reading.”

“Is that why you were exiled?”

That smile again; he liked it, because it was as conspiratory as it was sad. It meant he was learning something about their past, something important that drew them closer. “No, I was exiled for writing. The details are… more sand, I think, but I remember that they broke down my door. I made to run on impulse, but I couldn’t get far.” They stretched the wooden leg with a wince and their smile turned bitter, but they waved their hand to banish the heaviness of the moment. Speaking of exile tended to ruin even the best mood. “I don’t regret it, anyway. How did _you_ come to the Downside?”

Now, he was fully aware he hadn’t been answering his share of questions, considering he’d suggested they ask them in the first place. It was only that against the writing and the pain of their leg, his desertion seemed impulsive— callous, even. His connection with Fikani had been electric, but it wasn’t… he _knew_ what he’d done, what’d happened because of it. He didn’t support the war, but people seemed to die whether or not he was at his post. “I was exiled for abandoning my position without leave,” he said— the truth, if not the whole of it. He’d work his way up.

“Why?” He assumed they meant why had he left it, not the morality of his banishment. Arguing that would take all day.

“I thought I saw an enemy in the field.” Their eyes were trained to him and for a moment he was certain they… knew. It was like the Rite over again, where he could feel them internally. Regardless of what they may or may not have seen— not on purpose, he supposed, because when they refocused they snapped into attention far too blatantly to have been deceiving him— they didn’t comment.

They only smiled again, flatly. “I’m starting to wonder if anyone’s exile was truly fair,” they hummed, then drew themself to their feet. He lifted himself up to offer his arm, but they beat him upright. “Have we sufficiently bonded?” they asked, their voice as unimpressed as the look they shot him.

He kept his tone gentle, a little too aware that it was his own half truths that ended an otherwise positive conversation. “If you’re done, I won’t keep you,” he said, hoping he at least sounded sufficiently repentant. They softened.

“I’m sorry if I— I didn’t mean to sound short. I _do_ want to be friends with you, it’s just been…” They frowned, trying to put the feeling into words.

“It’s been a very long year this week,” he offered, grinning so they knew he understood. Every friendship forged in the Downside, much like the climate itself, took months to warm depending entirely on a myriad of uncontrollable variables. “I don’t blame you, my friend. I’m here when you want to speak further.”

The gesture of respect seemed to touch them, although they escaped the scene as quick as Rukey when Falcon Ron started talking about his father’s feet. It wasn’t the _ideal_ result that Hedwyn had hoped for, but somehow he felt as if he’d gotten through to the newest addition to their humble wagon.

**Author's Note:**

> [My writing blog is here](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com) and [I also do commissions](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com/post/162182264019/writing-commissions). With that out of the way, _Pyre. Hedwyn._ My heart was not equipped for both at once.
> 
> Not crazy about getting burnt real bad by the manic pixie dream bird we never meet and who was created solely to wife up Hedwyn, so stay tuned to see how I'm gunna kill my way out of this one (that's a joke, I'm not gunna kill his girlfriend I'm not an animal).


End file.
